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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Oct 29, 2013 9:11:27 GMT -8
Moose's knowing was largely permanent. For most people, the transition from having a home to being homeless was one that had happened. Moose, on the other hand, had never transitioned. He had no memory of ever having had a home. He had no fond warm fuzzy memories to fall back on. He had nothing before his time in prison, simply a blank void that amounted to nothingness. He knew it had happened. He knew that at some point, he'd had a family. At one point or another he'd had a mother, and maybe a father, and maybe even some siblings. He'd had a home and gone to school, and from what little he'd been told, he'd been a little shit about it.
None of those things really mattered to Moose though, because he remembered none of it. There was some saying Moose had heard a few times about trees falling in forests, but for him the real question was 'if something happened to me that I don't remember, does it matter?'. He'd dwelled on the question for a long time before deciding, years into his sentence, that it didn't. There was no point in trying to find out what his life had been like before, because that life was gone. He wasn't the same person. He didn't have any of the same friends, or any of his family. Nothing from before that mattered.
"Sorry, made the conversation kinda shit, didn't I?" Moose rumbled. "Just don't like the idea of kids on the street." To Moose, adults were on the street because of dumb shit they did. While it was a gross oversimplification, it was Moose's own experience. On the other hand, kids on the street tended to be on the street because of the dumb shit their parents did, and Moose really couldn't stand for that. The whole idea of the parent-child bond was completely lost on him.
"They're improvin', anyway. Get to eat here, don't I?"
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Oct 31, 2013 6:43:50 GMT -8
After knowing where the conversation was going, he could have stopped it if he minded. Probably would have stopped anyone else, but unlike the others that had refused to take a seat with the large man, Donovan found him relatively harmless. Maybe it wasn't cheerful nor light, but it was the closest to honesty he'd been on the subject in a long while. And being able to talk to somebody about it, even just vaguely, was appreciated when it was with somebody none too critical.
"No," Donovan disagreed, knowing he hadn't been doing his part to make the direction any better. "The circumstances that make these conversations necessary. That's the shit part, isn't it?" Even if he couldn't make any assumptions about what Moose's backstory was or his specific struggles, he knew well enough that it was never anything pleasant that landed somebody without a roof and a bed. Moose didn't seem like anybody with a destructive drug addiction or any mental illness that others had given up on, as far as he could tell. And too old to be a runaway. But he wondered if there was more to it than typical debt and repossession.
The exchange didn't change things for either of them, but perhaps it was motivating enough to remain mindful of allowing himself to slip back. A reminder that he was awful at saving money, even though he was sure he wasn't too wasteful with what little he had, and he wasn't too great at managing any security in his life. Maybe he'd been too sheltered from reality to have a good foundation for knowing how to make it in the world, but that was something he'd have to take the blame for himself, actively avoiding anything that involved the word responsibility. He was lucky at the moment, but luck had a way of running out.
"That's the hope, at least," Donovan glanced around for any sign of the waitress. She was coming their way, but only with the drink order. Better than nothing.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 9:18:20 GMT -8
Moose felt like food was taking forever--and it probably was. He wasn't used to having to wait so long for food. For him it was a generally instant thing--he was either in the right place at the right time, or had money, so he got food. Either that, or he simply didn't--there normally wasn't much waiting involved, if at all. The waitress appeared to be coming back, and Moose went silent as she dropped off their drinks, promising the food would be ready soon before heading off to her next table. Moose reached forward, picking up the glass and draining it almost empty.
"Yeah. Guess so. I mean, shit doesn't really work like that most of the time, but the best you can really do." He paused, then realized he'd completely screwed up his sentence. "I mean, it's the best you can do. Or the most."
However, the whole thing did give him a rough idea of something to ask. If Donovan had been recently homeless and got a place... well, that might be helpful, considering Moose also needed to get a place. He paused, squinting at him for a moment before blurting it out. "When you got money, how did you even find a place to rent?" Because the whole connection was just not working for him. He had money, even if it wasn't much--so how did he find a place to stay?
DONOVAN SHEPHERD | MAY 9TH, NOON |
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 2, 2013 1:54:42 GMT -8
Donovan took a bit more time with his own drink to avoid having to ask for a refill later, only a few small sips as he considered Moose's question. He wasn't sure he was the best person to ask for advice, but he was getting the impression that Moose didn't really have much of anyone else to turn to. "I was staying with my bo-" and he immediately cut the sentence short, taking another sip to distract from the slip up. He really wanted to avoid the subject of his ex, wanted to blot out that period of his history entirely. For all the trouble that Owen had managed to get himself into, Donovan couldn't claim he'd been much help or support through the situation. Maybe Donovan owed his ex more than abandoning him, considering all that he'd done to make sure they had a place to sleep. Even if all of it was through questionable circumstances and connections that he could hardly recommend as an example for Moose to follow.
"Roommates," he answered instead, figuring the solution would be of more interest than a backstory anyway. Moose didn't need to know the specifics. "I wouldn't be able to keep up with rent on my own, my job before didn't pay too well," he admitted, and his current at the radio station paid better but not significantly enough to allow any change to his living arrangements. "Try craigslist. You can use the public library," he suggested, doubting Moose had any regular internet access. "There's plenty of people offering rooms, and usually you won't have to worry about having anything in your name." Because if Moose's credit score was anything like his... there really wasn't much hope for finding places willing to rent to him. "It's a lot easier than trying to pay for everything on your own."
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 3, 2013 10:23:15 GMT -8
Moose was not aware refills were a thing in general, but he was operating under the assumption that water was free (which it was), which meant he could just keep getting drinks refilled indefintely. He didn't catch on to the fact that Donovan had almost said he had a boyfriend, well aware that his vocabulary was small enough that 'bo-' could have been one of several hundred words. 'Boyfriend' didn't even come to mind when he said it. Really, nothing came to mind. Moose simply wasn't the sort of person who was going to guess at half finished sentences.
Moose didn't know what 'craigslist' was, but he had a vague idea of what a roommate was. Technically you were 'cellmates' in prison, but it was the same basic principle--you shared a room or a house or whatever. Moose was completely fine with that, having shared a room on more then one occasion, but he'd actually spent most of his time in prison in a single. After all, Moose was a bit too big for him to comfortably share a room with someone. He hung off the end of the bed, and always had to be on the bottom bunk. Even then, he just took up too much room.
Moose didn't know what a credit score was, but if he ever dared to look he'd find out it was terrible--another gift from Darrin, who'd abused the neutral score to no end, leaving it a complete mess. Moose had very little money, but he still nodded at the idea. "Yeah, don't think I could pay on my own. Might have to try the... Craig thing." Assuming he went to the library, and assuming he remembered 'craigslist' by the time he got there. Even then, he found himself doubtful. Why would anyone want to share a room with him, of all people? He had very little to offer. Minimal money, no skills to his name, and few prospects. It wasn't like he could cook or anything to help reduce the rent.
"You seem like you've got this down pat." Donovan seemed to know a whole lot that Moose didn't, and Moose found himself vaguely envious once more. Everyone seemed more organized then him--more coordinated. More together, even if Donovan was far younger then he was.
DONOVAN SHEPHERD | MAY 9TH, NOON |
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 4, 2013 2:53:25 GMT -8
"I guess all you can really do is forget about pride and take advantage of any help offered," Donovan frowned, wondered if that sounded too weak. It was difficult taking a compliment when he knew how little he could credit himself, how completely worthless and overwhelmed he'd been in the beginning. But he didn't want to deny the compliment either. It'd probably come off insulting to Moose's own lack off success.
"Craigslist is a... web page," Donovan tested out the lingo, as uncertain of what they were actually called (site? page? url?) just as much as he was uncertain if Moose knew what he meant by the term. And he was just guessing at Moose's computer illiteracy, because Donovan hadn't even seen a computer to know what to do with it once he finally stumbled across them in the library. He required a lot of help, still wasn't quite certain how to log back into that Facebook account his roommate showed him how to set up. And with a lack of friends, really had no motivation to do so either. "Like the wanted ads in the newspaper. People selling things, or looking for things."
Ducking under the table for a brief moment, Donovan pulled a simple ballpoint from his bag, ready to write it down on a napkin for Moose... Only the napkins were cloth. Donovan tilted his head in consideration. He'd just scribble it out on the fancy napkin anyway, but then he wasn't too certain how Moose would feel leaving with it. Maybe Moose wanted to be welcomed back at this restaurant without incident, Donovan wasn't too concerned with being denied dining here again. Not that it was bad (he hadn't tried it yet) but restaurants really weren't his scene.
Still, better spare the innocent napkins. Pen poised, he clicked it, ready to write. Maybe it was overly presumptuous of him, because most people would probably think twice about touching a man Moose's size without warning or permission, but Donovan reached across the table to gently take Moose by the wrist.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 4, 2013 13:59:41 GMT -8
Moose had very little pride, if he had any at all. No one was ever going to call him proud, certainly. What did he have to be proud of? He had no home, had only recently got a job that paid relatively little, and the number of people he could count as 'friends' could be counted on one hand, if that. Most of them he wasn't even sure if he could count as friends. He might count them, but would they count him? Could he really count people if it only went one way? The whole thing was a mess, and Moose occasionally found himself wishing for the simplicity of his solitude.
He didn't know what a web page is. For that matter, he didn't know what URL or a site was either. The internet was the sort of thing that had utterly escaped Moose. When he'd gone in fifteen years earlier, the internet had barely existed. It certainly hadn't been anywhere near as pervasive as it was currently, and the lingo had flown right over his head. He didn't know any of what he was talking about. He had a vague idea about newspaper want ads, but even those he was unclear on.
At the very least he knew what a pen was, and Moose stared at him for a moment before realizing what he was doing--writing it down. He was going to write it down for him. That made sense, and Moose gave a little nod before Donovan reached over, taking his wrist. What was he - oh. Right. He understood that. He let his hand roll over, exposing his fleshy palm. Plenty of room to write on, and he'd have to make a point to write it down before it smudged off.
DONOVAN SHEPHERD | MAY 9TH, NOON |
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 5, 2013 4:22:11 GMT -8
They were the hands of somebody that could crush skulls, Donovan mused, trying to imagine the man using a smart phone or playing the piano. The pen didn't start writing immediately as he drew an empty arc of a C, and skin wasn't like paper that you could just press harder against to get it rolling. Shaking the pen a couple times, he scribbled against his own knuckles before it began marking properly.
Then he wrote out the website for Moose in painstakingly clear print across his palm, just by name and not including the multiple w's or the dot whatever. "Just show that to a librarian," he suggested, having done much the same thing himself. "All you have to do is look really confused." He wasn't quite sure how he'd manage to survive without librarians always taking pity on his inability to figure out much of anything on the computer.
And then as afterthought, he included his phone number underneath. "Just in case," he shrugged and already not expecting any attempt at contact from the other man. If he even had access to a phone.
Releasing Moose's wrist, Donovan noticed the shift of a shadow across their table and glanced up at the waitress who was giving them a bit of an odd look. Leaning back in his seat to make room for the food, Donovan eyed the two soups placed in front of him with renewed hunger. They were far larger than he expected, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 6, 2013 9:47:58 GMT -8
Moose could absolutely manage looking confused. He already was confused. He knew vaguely what a librarian was, simply because they'd had a library in the prison he'd spent most of his time in. It wasn't as if he'd hung out there or anything, but he totally new the basics. They had not had computers though--those were a different area entirely, and required special privileges that Moose had neither had, nor attempted to get. He'd never seen the point, and he was going to make some poor librarian's life hell when he made her walk him through every single step of finding Craig's list.
Not that he thought it would work. Why would anyone choose to share a room with him? He was big, bulky, and had almost no money. Someone would have to take pity on him for him to get an apartment with so little savings, and he was hardly the sort of person who inspired pity in others. Maybe if he was younger there'd have been a change, but he was rapidly approaching middle age (if he wasn't there already--he wasn't sure what counted as 'middle aged') and was more then old enough to be able to handle himself.
He drew his hand back as the food arrived, squinting at the numbers. He knew enough to know that it was a phone number, and it didn't take him long to guess it might be Donovans. For if he needed help, he guessed? Only he didn't have a phone, and all he could do was nod and give a little grunt of acknowledgement.
The food was distracting him. There was really no way around it--it looked damned good, and his mouth was starting to water. There was no politeness, no grace--no 'enjoy the food' or even a 'dig in'. Moose just Pulled the plate over, grabbed his knife and fork, and dug in. He had all the manners of a wild moose, and was wasting no time in cutting his steak into chunks that were a bit bigger then normal, chewing through them without a word.
He had absolutely zero table manners, to say the least.
DONOVAN SHEPHERD | MAY 9TH, NOON |
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 7, 2013 1:28:18 GMT -8
Donovan was staring with open amusement as Moose began devouring his steak, though not too surprised nor bothered given what little he knew of Moose's background and anything he could assume from it. For as unrefined his methods were, it seemed like a purer form of appreciation. Or at least Donovan could only guess he was enjoying it, didn't bother to ask. Nothing was coming between Moose and that steak, not even the side-glances from other diners.
But he quickly turned his attention to his own food, didn't like to contribute too much to the culture of staring at whatever was different. He was much slower and careful to eat, blowing gently on each spoonful and not spilling a drop. Table manners had been a large focus of his upbringing, whether being scolded for poking around his food too much or having to instruct his siblings how to use their utensils properly. Family dinner always was a (far too) big affair, with father saying grace and nobody allowed to start eating until everyone had been served and nobody allowed to leave until everyone was finished. It felt too much like a ritual of stiff politeness than anything to be enjoyed, had left him with very little appetite.
The only notice that he gave the lack of preamble to the start of the meal was of silent relief that he didn't have to fake a smile for any thanks to god. Also appreciated was the lack of loud complaining that usually accompanied dinners with his roommate. Overall, Moose was a perfectly acceptable dining partner.
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REITGERTE
Staff Mod
WANT TO MAKE A CONTRACT?
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Post by REITGERTE on Nov 8, 2013 7:05:23 GMT -8
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You have been rewarded with one residue as this thread is now complete. It has been placed in the archives under the 'finished' sub-board. You are more than welcome to PM fate if this thread is not finished or if you are unhappy/unsatisfied with the amount of residue that has been rewarded. Keep up the great work and keep posting with other members.
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